


Guilty Pleasure

by gryarea



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Eating, Feeding, Feeding Kink, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Other, Stuffing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:08:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22533754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryarea/pseuds/gryarea
Summary: You're new in town and getting acquainted with the locals. It's all going fine until you visit Alex who calls your bluff - though that's probably unknown to him.Alex/Player (Gender Neutral Pronouns)Stuffing, eating, general belly kink.
Relationships: Alex/Player (Stardew Valley)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 65





	Guilty Pleasure

**Author's Note:**

> Based on my big crush on Alex Stardew Valley and my experiences of *hands him a complete breakfast* *hands him a complete breakfast* *hands him a complete breakfast* getting to know him... What can I say? I am weak for jocks with big appetites.

Moving to a small town was tough. As much as the city had burned you out, drained you and tired you, there had been comfort in the anonymity of the crowds. The swell of the hive-mind meant that you could blend in and not be noticed. Here in Pelican Town, it seemed like everyone knew everyone and all of their business — and they weren’t all that welcoming to strangers past the polite niceties you'd received so far. Not that anyone had been especially rude; they had just, whether intentionally or not, had made it obvious that you were _new_ to town. You stood out. No one knew your business yet, and in turn, you did not qualify to know theirs.

But it would be fine. You had a pretty good plan for worming your way into the hearts of the Pelican Town residents. While you were about in the town square, at Pierre’s shop or the beach, you had made the effort to say hello and speak to everyone you encountered so they’d get to know your face. While you were elsewhere — namely in the woods and on your own farmland — you would work hard to gather lumber. Robin had mentioned being able to patch up the cabin, install a bigger bedroom and a kitchen, and it was the kitchen space that you were after.

And finally, at the sticky hot end of the summer, just a few weeks after you had moved to the farm, you got it. Robin had done a lovely job. It was spacious and fitted beautifully. Cooking had been a hobby of yours for a long time in the city and it had been a tough move to a house with no kitchen, that was for sure. It was a skill of yours that you had faith in and you were sure that that would be the key to finally being able to just blend in and be properly welcomed. No more ‘new farmer’, no more ‘hey, you’ when people forgot what your name was. No more scepticism about whether you’d be a good farmer, or whether you’d fin in with the rest of the residents.

The very afternoon that Robin finished her work on your house, the plan was firmly afoot. Utensils out and oven lit — it was time to get to work.

It hadn’t been _too_ hard to guess what people would like. Harvey seemed the type to enjoy coffee, so you’d brewed it properly from beans grown on your land; Elliot had a certain exquisiteness to him that suggested he liked more adventurous flavours, so you researched Tom Kha soup, used mushrooms grown on your own farm and caught shrimp especially; Shane looked as if he enjoyed something greasy and comforting, so you threw together a damn good pizza. There was a pretty good, comprehensive list forming in your head as to who liked what with each meal you whipped up, boxed or plated and dropped to them. They were all very polite accepting the meals, most of them looking so happy that you’d taken the time to think of them, all letting you know they’d return the plate or Tupperware box at some point soon.

It was only Alex that had thrown you for a bit for a loop.

You had guessed that he probably ate well and ate _big_ when he told you he was serious about going pro in gridball. You had diagnosed him as a “lean meat and veg” kind of guy — maybe fish — but when, one Sunday evening after a good long session of batch cooking, all you had unused in the fridge were a few hash-browns you’d made earlier in the week, eggs, tomatoes and mushrooms, you thought of Alex. He definitely seemed like the type to enjoy a full cooked breakfast, actually. Something hearty, heavy and filling to start a day of working out and training. You’d knock him a good one up in the morning fresh, you decided, yawning and carrying yourself to bed. And then that would’ve been a very successful week of feeding all of the townspeople.

And of course, you had put together a damn good breakfast. Fried eggs with runny yolks, crispy hash-browns, mushrooms, tomatoes, toast and a side of pancakes, topped with maple syrup tapped directly from the tree behind your house. You even had a big bottle of fresh milk put aside for Alex to drink with it. It was decadent, it was beautiful, it was _big_. Maybe a little too big? Should you take the stack of pancakes out? No, you told yourself. Trust yourself — you wanted to impress these people after all, though the thought of Alex putting away that much food did make your hands tremble a little. You swallowed thickly, putting the thought back in its box for later.

You carried it across the square on two plates covered with foil tucked protectively under your arms with the bottle of milk tucked away in your backpack. It was lucky that no one in Pelican Town locked their front doors, you thought, bumping the front door to Alex and his grandparent’s house open with your hip as your hands were very much occupied. “Knock knock,” you said confidently, announcing yourself at this early hour. “Hey, farmer,” called a cool voice from another room — the kitchen, it sounded like — “come in.”

Alex was sat at the kitchen table alone in a white tank t-shirt and grey jogging bottoms. You hadn’t funny registered the thickness of his biceps before or the leanness of his torso. He was toned, hard-bodied. There was really nothing extra on him.

“Uh,” you fumbled, trying to bring your mind back to the present moment, “Hey Alex! I feel like you’re like the kind of guy to enjoy a complete breakfast so I’ve…” You placed the plates on the table and gestured to them a little awkwardly.

“Man, are you serious? I _love_ complete breakfasts!” The smile on his face was beaming. Did he have dimples when he smiled? Oh, wow, you thought, stood there a little shyly, Alex is pretty handsome when he smiles.

“Sit down, eat with me,” he said, gesturing to both of the plates. He stretched his leg out to kick the chair opposite him at the table out for you to sit on.

“Oh, this is just _one_ breakfast, actually. I’ve already eaten,” you said sheepishly, taking the seat out of politeness as you rummage in your bag to find the milk. Maybe you should leave? Was he going to make you stay and watch him eat this?

“They’re… They’re both for me? Dude, how did you know I’m bulking right now?” Alex seemed genuinely touched as he peels off the foil from the top. The food inside was still warm. “Maybe me and you could actually be _friends_ , new farmer.” He reaches for a knife and fork from the pot holding them on the table before digging in. He’s already moaning around the first forkful of egg and hash-brown and you feel the familiar feeling in your loins whenever this happens — whether you’ve facilitated it on purpose or accidentally. You place the milk bottle in front of him and he beams even brighter, his eyebrow lifted in a 'for me?' gesture. You nod. Is there a good way to excuse yourself right now? Probably not. Alex eats quickly, almost as if he’d forgotten you were even there until he looks up with egg yolk on his bottom lip and says, “you’re a good cook,” with his mouth utterly full.

You know the look on your face is one of wonder when you notion to your own lip — “you’ve got some, um, uh...” — and Alex swipes his thumb over his own lips, catching the yolk and then immediately sticking his thumb in his mouth to lick it off. You sit there wishing that he was licking the yolk off of your fingers instead.

“You learn to cook in the city?” He asks, green eyes making firm eye contact as he spears a fried tomato with his fork and picks up half a hash-brown with his fingers, cramming both into his mouth at the same time. Damn, he’s a messy eater: damn you’re getting turned on by it. This definitely was not your intention this morning. “I watch a lot of cooking programs,” you say honestly, swallowing thickly. “Guilty pleasure.”

Alex nods, satisfied with your answer. It’s taken all of five minutes for him to finish the savoury plate that you know would’ve taken you triple the time to finish. He pulls the pancake plate closer before sucking fork clean and giving the knife a good lick to clear the grease. He takes one bite of the pancakes and bacon — the perfect ratio on his fork, maybe he really wasn’t lying about being into breakfast — and gives a satisfied huff. You swear his eyes roll back into your head and you immediately feel dizzy. The _last thing_ you’d expected this morning was to see the local fit jock gorge himself on something you’d cooked while you watched, impatient and eager to get home and take care of the issue arising in your pants. It was such a turn on — it had always been. You’d experimented with it with partners before in the city but it had never been like this. Maybe because Alex didn’t know how wild he was driving you by doing nothing unusual at all for him, all the while you were sat there across the table with sweaty palms and the desire to take his knife and fork and do the hard work for him.

Or maybe he did know because when he moaned again around a mouthful of syrupy pancake and you couldn’t quite hold your poker face, there had been an instant flash of curious recognition in his eyes. No, it couldn’t have been. Sure, Alex was a popular guy and had definitely had a few girlfriends before but he couldn’t have noticed you were into watching him eat this. You were probably just being paranoid.

“How’re the pancakes?” You chance, hoping to play off your temporary slip as happiness at seeing him enjoy the meal.

“Best ones I’ve ever had, I think,” he says with his mouth full again. Your _play off_ seems to _pay off,_ the mischievous glimmer in his eye fades. He’s halfway through the stack now, and you realise he’s slowed down considerably. He grabs the bottle of milk and twists off the cap as he leans back in the chair, still chewing, and places a hand on his belly. It’s hot and, _fuck_ , you want to feel too. He takes a big swig of milk and then just... Doesn't stop. He chugs away at the fresh milk like it's nothing - until you see what looks like a flash of pain across his face, or at the very least, discomfort. He places the bottle back on the table with a quarter or so left as you wonder idly if he has defined abs and if so, how they’d feel with a stomach stuffed full behind them. Alex swallows the remaining milk in his mouth and gives himself an encouraging pat and a firm rub with one hand and it seems to hit the spot. He doesn’t bother to stifle the burp and instantly looks much happier without it in his system. God, you want to get home and get off already. He doesn’t excuse himself for the burp and carries on tearing up the diminishing stack of pancakes. “You don’t have to, uh, rush yourself, you know,” you offer sheepishly. Not that there’s much of the breakfast left to rush eating now.

“Thought you’d want your plates 'nd bottle back,” Alex offers helpfully, and you rock slightly in your seat to adjust the hot arousal pooling in your lower abdomen. You nod. You were, and never are, in a massive rush to have your plates returned to you, but you don’t correct Alex.

In a few large mouthfuls, the complete breakfast is no more. Alex huffs after he swallows the last bite and groans as his hand rubs firm circles on his belly. He knocks back the remainder of the milk and sighs. “Man, that’s gonna take some working off,” he laughs. He seems so genuinely happy that you can’t help but smile. “I’ve never seen anyone eat my cooking quite like that before,” you offer, aware of the heat emanating from your face and the starstruck look no doubt in your eyes. Alex cocks an eyebrow at you. “Does it make you feel good to look after people like that? I saw on TV that some people express care through home cooking and stuff. Like you bought the cake for grandma and fried mushrooms over for grandpa the other day too. Are you going to always feed everyone the things you grow?” Alex wipes his mouth on the back of his hand while his other hand now idly rubs gentle up and down motions on his belly. Alex, to see that again, you think, I would farm nothing but breakfast goods and present them all to you. You wish you could see any swell of his stomach but it remains hidden under the tank top and Alex’s tanned hand. “Yeah, well, my friends in the city always joked I was a bit of a feeder.” Saying out loud makes you shiver with the delight of your secret.

“Well,” Alex says, standing up with another exasperated huff at his own fullness, “you’re welcome to come and feed me breakfast again, farmer.” His hands drop to his side and you see the slight curve of his stuffed stomach pushing against the thin white material. Again, you feel your poker face slip so you grab the plates and force a smile. “I’d be happy to. Though, I’ll bring breakfast for me too next time.”

“Yeah, cool,” Alex says before yawning. “Anyway, I’m gonna go lie down for a bit. Don't feel like being upright any more," he laughs. "Thanks again. See you around, farmer.”

You clutch the plates close to your body and leave with a polite, “have a good day.”

You’re sure you’ll never be able to look at a complete breakfast the same way again after that, all the while hoping sincerely that you really _can_ see it sometime again when you get home and quickly lock the door behind you.


End file.
